The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2), page 1
The Arrogant Artist
Book 2 International Bad Boys
JA Low
JALowBooks
International Bad Boy Set
Copyright @ 2020 JA Low
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. JA Low is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.
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Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design @ Outlined with Love
Editor @ Swish Design & Editing
www.swishgrafix.com.au
Created with Vellum
Contents
Note from author
1. Emily
2. Emily
3. Louis
4. Emily
5. Emily
6. Louis
7. Emily
8. Emily
9. Louis
10. Emily
11. Louis
12. Emily
13. Emily
14. Emily
15. Louis
16. Emily
17. Emily
18. Louis
19. Emily
20. Louis
21. Emily
22. Louis
23. Emily
24. Louis
25. Emily
26. Louis
27. Emily
28. Louis
29. Emily
30. Emily
31. Louis
32. Louis
33. Emily
34. Louis
35. Emily
36. Louis
37. Emily
38. Emily
39. Louis
40. Emily
41. Louis
Breaking News
42. Emily
New York
43. Emily
44. Louis
Two months later
45. Louis
Six months later
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Author
Also by JA Low
Also by JA Low
Also by JA Low
Interconnecting Series
Also by JA Low
Also by JA Low
Interconnecting Series
Note from author
This was previously released as Love in Color.
1
Emily
“You look beautiful tonight.” Toby gives me a heartwarming smile as he takes my hand, helping me out of the taxi. He’s looking rather handsome too, dressed in a navy suit, his blond hair slicked back. Toby and I have been dating for five years. We met the last year of university. He was doing an international business degree, and I was finishing an art history degree. Toby’s now a business analyst for an international finance company. He’s been putting in long hours at the office as well as traveling a lot to New York. I’m so proud of him.
I wish I were doing something with my degree like he is. Instead, it’s sitting at home gathering dust. I thought at this point in my life I’d be working at the Tate Modern, or one of the Serpentine Galleries, or maybe even in my wildest dreams, the Louvre in Paris. Instead, I’m working in the gift shop at Madame Tussauds selling tourist crap. I haven’t had the best of luck with jobs. I’ve bounced around from one horrendous position to another.
Who knew there would be so many people with art degrees trying to get a job? I can’t even get unpaid work in a gallery, and I can assure you I have tried everything.
Luckily, I have Toby because he encourages me every day never to give up on my dreams, and that one day, I too will be living mine, just like he is.
Toby places a hand at the small of my back as we enter the restaurant. It’s some fancy restaurant in the city that he likes to go to for client lunches. I know I can’t afford anything on the menu. The restaurant is opulent as we take the first steps inside, where we’re greeted by a gorgeous blonde maître d who could be on the cover of Vogue.
“Table for two, please,” Toby asks the woman.
“Certainly, sir. Follow me.” She smiles at him, and we follow the supermodel through the luxurious restaurant. I watch as her high ponytail swings from side to side in a mesmerizing fashion as we make our way through the dimly lit restaurant.
“Table for two.” The woman gestures to a small black wooden table with a small votive candle in the middle giving off the smallest amount of light. Toby pulls my chair out for me, always the gentleman, and I take my seat. “Here are your menus. I’ll send your server out to you in a moment. Please, take your time.” Then she twists on her heels, and she’s gone.
“This is gorgeous,” I say while looking around the stunning restaurant with its mirrored ceilings and silver chainmail chandeliers which are more like sculptures than the need for light. The dark gray walls look almost like silk with what looks like hand-painted silver flecks through the wallpaper.
“A bottle of champagne, please,” Toby orders when he catches the attention of a waitress as she rushes past. The waitress nods and walks away while my heart starts to quicken.
Fancy restaurant. Check.
Champagne. Check.
Five years of dating. Check.
Four years of living together. Check.
This is it!
Tonight is the night!
The night that Toby pops the question.
“Are we celebrating something?” I smile at him.
He seems nervous, jumpy even. A tiny bead of sweat settles across his upper lip. I take another look around the restaurant. Although beautiful, it’s not exactly where I imagined being proposed to. I was hoping for something more like on the steps of the Met in New York or outside the Venus de Milo in the Louvre. I’ve been leaving hints for Toby about engagement rings for the past year, and by now I hope he knows that I’d love an antique ring, one that has a beautiful story attached to it, or even more so I’d love one of his family’s heirlooms. I don’t need a new ring, and it doesn’t even have to be a plain white diamond—I’ll take a pink or a canary or even a sapphire—because I’m not traditional in that sense.
“Actually, yes, we’re celebrating something.” Toby can’t look at me. He scans the room impatiently I’m sure willing the hostess to return with the champagne. I wonder if the ring is in the bottom of the glass like they do in the movies.
Remember, Emily, don’t drink the entire contents of the glass, you don’t want to choke on a two-carat engagement ring.
“Oh, how exciting. What is it?” I talk more when I get nervous, I can’t help it.
“Wait until the bottle comes,” Toby tells me. This is it. He has a plan, and I must be patient. He has probably been organizing this night for months, and I don’t want to ruin it by being too eager. I smile and wait while the butterflies flit around my stomach.
Toby’s such a catch, or should I say that’s what people tell me. He comes from an extremely wealthy family who may even be related to royalty or something like that. They are blue-blooded with country estates and posh accents while I come from a hard-working, middle-class family. I got into university via a scholarship, whereas I’m pretty sure Toby’s family has a wing of the university named after them.
Even though we come from two different worlds, we fell in love. I’m not one of those girls impressed by money. I hate that Toby has to buy everything in our relationship because, let’s face it, my meager wage isn’t paying for first-class trips to Majorca like we did last summer. He knows it makes me feel uncomfortable, but he simply smiles and tells me that he’s lucky because he has a large trust fund, and why wouldn’t he want to spoil the woman he loves. I can’t argue with that.
The waitress comes back with the expensive bottle of champagne. She pops it and pours us each a glass, then places the bottle back into the champagne stand beside us before rushing away.
Toby holds up his glass. “To the future.” Then he clinks his glass against mine.
My heart does a double beat. I take a sip, the bubbles tickle my nose, and the smooth liquid warms my belly.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about something, Emily.”
I try and calm myself down by taking a deep breath. I need to act surprised when he asks me to marry him.
“You know how I have been working on projects with our New York office?” I nod. He’s been flying back and forth frequently for meetings for the past six months. “Well, they have asked me to take over the New York team for a two-year contract.”
Oh. My. God. We’re moving to New York.
/> Yes. Yes. Yes.
This is the fresh start I need.
“Oh, Toby, this is an amazing opportunity. You deserve it so much. I’m so proud of you, baby. You’ve worked so hard.” Giddy excitement fills me as I continue, “There are so many amazing galleries in New York. I bet I can easily find work there.”
Toby stiffens, placing his champagne glass on the table, his look now serious.
“Actually, Ems…” there’s a long awkward pause, “… I was thinking of going alone.”
I just stare at him, my lashes blinking slowly, my brain trying to compute and then catch up to what his words mean.
Alone?
As in one person?
As in just him?
“Oh. Okay. It’s a work thing… I understand.” I try to hide my disappointment, but the pain is killing me inside. “Long distance is going to be hard.” I simply can’t afford to fly back and forth between London and New York for the next two years. I have no idea how this is going to work.
There’s another long pause, then he says, “I don’t want to do a long-distance relationship, Emily.”
Again, I just stare at him, my brain not really computing the words he’s speaking to me. “You don’t want me to come to New York, but you also don’t want to do a long-distance relationship.” Toby nods. “I don’t understand what you…” Then it hits me. “You’re breaking up with me?” The question comes out louder than I anticipated, and people at the next table turn to look at us.
“I’m not breaking up with you, just asking for a break.”
What the hell?
I’m sure my jaw hits the floor.
“I thought you were going to propose.” My voice squeaks, then a sneaky single tear falls down my cheek. No. I will not cry. Toby dislikes emotional women.
I hear someone tsk behind me.
“Emily, I’m sorry.” Toby grabs my hands and holds them with his own. “But honestly, babe, you can’t be surprised.”
What? I don’t think I can be any more stunned than I am at this moment.
“Excuse me?” I pull my hands away from his.
“Ems… you’ve done nothing with your life. You flit around from menial job to menial job, which was cute for a couple of years, but we’re getting older now. I want to be proud of the woman I marry.”
Oh, holy hell, his words are like a knife to my heart, slicing it in two. I have never felt so worthless than I do right now.
“I think it’s best we have some time apart. You sort yourself out. You can stay in my apartment while I’m gone. I’m not an asshole. When I come back, and you’re in a better position with your life… I can propose then.”
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded.
Does he actually think what he’s saying is okay?
“So, what you’re saying is… you want to see other people while you’re in New York?” His cheeks turn red, and he has the nerve to turn away flustered. My stomach sinks with realization. “Oh…” well, this is awkward, “… what you’re really saying is you’ve already met someone in New York.” There’s a long pause before he sticks the knife in further and twists.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Ems.”
My body is shaking with humiliation and anger. My hand is itching to pick the champagne glass up and throw it at his face, or better yet, break off the stem and plunge it in his dark heart.
“How long?” I don’t really want an answer to that question, but I know it’s important to ask how long he’s been deceiving me.
Toby lets out a heavy sigh. “Six months.”
My eyes widen. “Six… months!” My voice rises.
Toby frowns and checks around quickly to make sure no one is noticing our disagreement. His complete and utter disregard for my pain angers me even more—he’s more concerned with what strangers think about him than his own girlfriend.
I lower my voice because I don’t want to look hysterical. “I wish I knew we were allowed to screw other people while we were dating because maybe then I might have found someone who actually knows how to make me come, instead of having to resort to my vibrator to get me off. Every. Single. Time.” It’s a low blow, but it’s also the truth. Toby only ever cared about his needs, his pleasure, and ultimately, his satisfaction. His face pales.
“Emily, there’s no need to act like this. We’re both adults.”
My fist wants to show him how much of an adult I actually think he is.
“You’re a weak piece of shit,” I seethe between clenched teeth. “I can’t believe I have wasted five years of my life with you. Five. Damn. Years!” I’m angry at myself for falling for the fairy-tale ending. “I’m the best thing that will ever happen to you, Toby. And when you realize it, after the novelty of shagging some American Barbie has worn off, I’m going to be so far gone…” I waggle my finger in his face, “… you’re going to regret this day,” I tell him as if putting a hex on him.
“You were always overly dramatic, Emily.” He rolls his eyes, and damn him right to hell because a look of boredom falls across his face. “I thought we could have an adult discussion about this,” he hisses.
“You’re breaking my heart, Toby.” I look at him in complete and utter disbelief. “You have been cheating on me with someone else for six months.”
Hold in the tears, Emily.
Hold them in, I tell myself. This bastard does not deserve them.
Trouble is I fail miserably—stupid tear ducts are overactive.
“You know who I am, Emily. You know my family,” he whisper-yells at me. “I have a legacy to uphold.” My chest begins to tighten as I try to stave off a panic attack. He reaches out and touches my hand. “When I come back, Emily, you and I can be together.” Is he serious? “You’re marriage material, but only when you have a proper job.” The condescending, conniving, contemptuous prick.
“I pity your American girlfriend. I bet she thinks she’s struck it rich with some posh English guy. I wonder if she knows she’s not marriage material either.” I pull my hand from his, and Toby gives me another frustrated look as he draws his brows together so hard, they form a single line across his forehead.
“My family would never allow me to marry an American.”
I’ve had enough! Picking up my napkin, I throw it at him but wishing it was something much heavier like a crystal vase.
“We. Are. Done. I hope your new girlfriend has a powerful vibrator, she’s going to need one.” And with that last barb, I walk out of the restaurant with my head held high.
Only trouble is as soon as I’m outside, I burst into tears.
2
Emily
“That lying sack of shit,” Rosie yells, grabbing a bottle of wine from her refrigerator.
“I’d have thrown the glass of champagne in his face,” Ava adds.
“He actually thought you would take him back after he fucked some American bimbo for two years?” Georgia states.
I love my girls. When they got my SOS as I sobbed out the front of the restaurant, they launched into Operation Save Emily, calling me an Uber and making sure Rosie’s apartment was stocked with lots of wine and chocolate.
“Five years I’ve wasted on that man.” I throw back the third glass of wine without any regard for how I’ll feel tomorrow.
“I can’t believe he’s been cheating and for so long. No offense, Em… but seriously, the man is a bore,” Rosie tells me, and I giggle. “He has the personality of an ironing board.”
